


To Pass The Cemetery Gates

by TheWolfQueen



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Gore, Murder, Post-Reichenbach, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Supernatural Elements, Trans Male Character, Trans Male Sebastian Moran, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Violence, references to gun play, trans guy written by a trans guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-03 12:30:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16326284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWolfQueen/pseuds/TheWolfQueen
Summary: Three months after Jim's death, Sebastian is drowning his PTSD and depression in alcohol, when he sees a shadow. A shadow, that looks too much like Jim. And it seems to have a plan for Sebastian. A plan, that could lead to recovery - or to ruin.





	1. A Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda stole the title from "Cemetery Gates" by Pantera.
> 
> Also, mind the tags. This is not a particularly happy story. (Although it does have its moments)
> 
> (Sebastian being trans isn't a big part of the story, btw. it's just mentioned in passing (no pun intended), it's mainly important to me personally)

Sebastian had never believed in the supernatural. Ghosts, spirits, daemons, call them whatever you want, he didn’t believe in them. They were superstition, imagination, nothing he thought himself prone to. 

But now it seemed he had to re-evaluate his standing on that topic. Because he still saw Jim.

The first time it happened three months after the fiasco that Jim had called “The Final Problem”.

The clock had just struck two, and Sebastian was sitting in the dark entrance hall of their house in Conduit Street. The marble, on which Jim had insisted so long ago, was cold beneath him. The wall in his back was only marginally warmer. 

He took a swig from the bottle next to him. For the last two months, he had been almost continuously drunk. It was the only thing that helped, the only thing that allowed him to sleep for a couple hours at least before he woke up screaming again. The only thing that numbed the pain.

He had been on the roof on the other side on the street when _it_ had happened. Through the scope of his rifle he had watched the scene unfold on top of the hospital, when suddenly, Jim had put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

For two days Sebastian had been convinced it had been some elaborate trick that Jim hadn’t deigned to inform him of. But after 48 hours without a message he had gotten antsy, and finally he had broken into the morgue. 

When he had found the body – had Jim been this small in life? – in one of the coolers, it had been like a blow to the head. He had been out of it for a while, sitting on the cold tiles, sobbing, barely caring if someone heard him. It had taken all his willpower to leave again, and maybe even more to leave Jim behind. To leave him on the cold, unforgiving steel, for the examiner to cut open, for the police to stare at. Just the thought of it had almost made him vomit. 

Afterwards, he had cried, he had raged, until finally he had started drinking, and everything went numb.

He barely left the house anymore. He hadn’t talked to anyone for over a week, and he was half convinced that he wouldn’t have to be around much longer. The last time suicide had sound this alluring had been before he began his transition.

His fingers itched to take one of the guns from the safe where he had stashed them after _the incident_ and not touched them again.

The first time it happened he thought he was hallucinating – wouldn’t be entirely new – when he saw a shadowy figure standing right next to the safe. Because it couldn’t be. 

His alcohol-soaked brain took almost a minute to notice, but it made no sense for a shadow to appear in that place. There was no light in the hall but the thin rays from the street lamps that fell through the window _at an entirely different angle_.

Apart from that, there was no one left who could possibly cast this shadow, really. He would know that head tilt everywhere.

It looked too much like Jim.

Sebastian forced himself upright; the bottle rolled away and made a hollow sound when its way was blocked by the staircase. It took him a lot more effort to get to his feet than it should. After three months, there wasn’t much left of the Tiger. He could count his ribs under the faded t-shirt; a ten year old could probably knock him off his feet. The alcohol was one of the problems, but not the only one. He barely ate, barely moved, barely engaged in anything at all.

And then there were the nightmares, of Jim on the roof, Jim in the morgue, Jim in a coffin. Sometimes he dreamed he was running through the empty house, desperately searching for Jim, hearing his voice or his footsteps in the next room, but never finding him. He barely slept anymore, stayed awake until he passed out – maybe on the floor, maybe in a chair, maybe on the couch if he was lucky. It usually took about an hour until the nightmares became too much again. Sometimes he didn’t even know if he was dreaming or just having violently vibrant flashbacks.

Sebastian felt as if he could hear the Shadow’s foot tapping impatiently against the floor as he slowly approached the safe. It was so achingly familiar, he almost hissed “sorry we can’t all be lightning fast!” at it. He caught himself before he could do so. Somehow, it felt wrong to talk. He looked at the Shadow more closely. It didn’t vanish, nor did it seem bothered by the scrutiny. Instead, the tapping intensified.

Sebastian huffed, and fumbled the keys from his pocket. The Shadow didn’t speak a single word, but instinctively he knew what it wanted. It took him several tries to get the key into the lock. His hands weren’t as steady as they used to be, and the twilight wasn’t helping. 

He hesitated. Half of him wanted to turn the key, to finally look at his once beloved guns again, with something like longing for the indescribable and incomparable feeling of sliding one’s hand around the grip of a pistol.

The other half of him wanted to run away from the safe, to drown the key in the Thames, and possibly himself along with it, unable to bear the sight of something so closely resembling the _thing_ that had killed Jim.

He let go of the key. He half-walked, half-stumbled back to his bottle and took another swig. The Shadow’s disappointment was strangely noticeable in the air.

Despite his hesitation, the draw was undeniable. Slowly, he made his way back over. His heart was hammering in his chest, so loud in his ears it even drowned out the tapping.

Sebastian looked at the Shadow for reassurance, then he turned the key. The door swung open smoothly. A smug sort of approval radiated from the Shadow.

There were his guns – pistols and rifles, and the airgun Jim had given him not so long ago, all neatly arranged. With shaking hands he reached into the safe, not touching anything, just letting his fingers hover over shiny barrels and worn grips. 

Finally he took one of the guns out. Not a rifle, but one of his guns from _before_.

Because nowadays, Sebastian’s life could be neatly split into three chapters: before Jim (dull, half, unfulfilling) – with Jim (absolute, vibrant, complete) – and now, after Jim (hollow, broken, lonely).

The revolver was familiar in his hand, a solid weight, even unloaded. He could not carry the gun and the cleaning supplies in one hand, so he put down the bottle. The Shadow seemed to nod.

Sebastian stumbled into the kitchen and sat down at the table. For a while he just sat there, staring at the gun in front of him, before he slowly started taking it apart. It took all his concentration; the tiny screws were a nuisance even when sober, but with unsteady hands they were an outright challenge. The smell of the gun oil calmed his mind, and the familiar movements soothed him. 

Occasionally he looked up, searching the room for the Shadow, but it was nowhere to be seen. 

~*~

The next morning he woke in bright daylight. He was still in the kitchen, on every surface around him where his guns, cleaned and cared for, and the oil was almost empty. 

Sebastian rubbed his eyes, looking at the clock. For the first time in forever he had slept more than four hours, and hadn’t been troubled by nightmares. A tiny, tiny smile crept onto his face.

For weeks now his first act after waking had been to search for the nearest bottle of booze. But not today. He dragged himself to the bathroom, getting into the shower. Even though he avoided looking at himself in the mirror at all costs, he was acutely aware of the sorry state he was in.

Afterwards, he put the guns back into the safe. He had to rest every couple of minutes, his body not used to even this much exertion anymore. This weakness made him want to throw something against the wall, but he reined it in, and instead used the anger to push himself another couple steps. 

He even tried to make some breakfast, only to be reminded that he had lived off nothing but alcohol and the occasional takeout for way too long. He did manage to make some tea, at least, and maybe that was the better solution for his stomach.

~*~

Over the next days he caught little glances of the Shadow, a movement here, an impossible darkness there, but barely more than that.

~*~

The third time Sebastian saw the Shadow clearly, he was drunk again. Not as drunk as he used to be, just enough to calm his mind – to make sleeping sometime in the near future possible.

He was sitting on the couch. His recent attempt to move back into the bedroom – _their_ bedroom – had ended with him sitting on the floor, crying silently, and repeatedly thumping the back of his head against the wall. All his memories had become painful, a reminder of what would never be again. It had taken forever until he had finally crawled back into the hallway, in the middle of the night, when he couldn’t see more than vague shapes in the dark room.

Now he had wrapped himself in a thick blanket, a mug of tea was going cold on the table. He felt like he was constantly freezing, but couldn’t tell if it came from inside of him or was just a by-product of his weight loss.

A mindless sports match was mute on the TV, all Sebastian could tell was that a ball was involved. He wasn’t paying attention; he wasn’t even sure why he had turned it on in the first place.

Absentmindedly he took one of his guns apart and put it back together over and over. Since the Shadow had made him face them again he had taken to a couple old habits again. One of them was, always keep a gun close to you. He wasn’t even sure what he was protecting himself against, but he felt it was essential to have at least one weapon within arm’s reach at all times. 

As he loaded the gun with easy, familiar movements, he suddenly felt something change. When you have lived with someone, especially someone as capricious as Jim Moriarty, for long enough, you start simply _knowing_ when they are near you. It is like the feeling of someone staring at you across the room, or a tiger you can’t quite see or hear stalking through the jungle next to you.

Sebastian looked around the room. And sure enough, there was a shadow next to the window, pitch black against the yellow-y lit wallpaper. It had been one of Jim’s favourite spots; he could watch the street from there while being invisible to anyone below.

“Hey there”, Sebastian murmured, with a hoarse voice he barely recognised as his own, and instantly felt ridiculous. Still he said: “I miss you, you know?”

He had never been the type to talk to a grave, to confess lies and loves to a cold stone. But this felt less like speaking to the air, and more like saying something while Jim was in the next room, with Sebastian not being sure if he wanted to be heard or not.

Slowly, he got up. The blanket fell to the floor and was left there. The movement still took much more energy than it used to. He walked across the room, and stood on the other side of the window. It was a familiar place.

“See that guy down there?” He asked, looking at a young man hurrying through the cold fog. “I could shoot him from here, no problems.”

The words fell from his lips easily. He had said them a hundred times, standing in the living room just like this, next to Jim, who would either laugh with him or at him. But he’d laugh, and that had been all that mattered. 

Now Sebastian felt the same amusement radiating from the Shadow, so he angled his gun just like that, and mimicked a shot.

“Boom. One bastard less in the world.” He said, and thought he could hear Jim’s chuckle.

He wanted to touch the Shadow – no, not the Shadow, but Jim. But he kept his hands tightly around the gun, because he knew what would happen. He’d reach out, but instead of soft skin and silky hair his fingers would meet the rough wallpaper, and he knew he couldn’t handle that.

The Shadow was an illusion, of whatever kind, and it could never be Jim. No matter how desperately Sebastian wanted it to be.

He sat back on the couch, removing himself from the temptation that could only lead to disappointment, and fought to keep the words down.

Since Jim’s death he had barely spoken. Cried, screamed, raged, but rarely spoken. And now there were words stuck in his throat, not quite finding the way out but also impossible to swallow.

Without giving it actual thought he stuck the gun between the armrest and the cushion; its usual place. He almost reached for the half-empty bottle beside him, but caught himself mid-movement. He was drunk enough already.

“You left me”, he finally whispered, glaring at the Shadow with something like accusation. “You left me incomplete.”

Sebastian knew he had heard those words before, but he couldn’t place them. All he knew was the truth in them.

There was no reaction from the Shadow. None at all. But he hadn’t expected any. Jim had never been big on emotions. Maybe he would have thought Sebastian pathetic even, for behaving like he did. But there was no denying it, and Sebastian had stopped trying to lie to himself a long time ago.

He needed Jim, and without him, there wasn’t much left. No purpose, no nothing. He might as well be dead.

If Sebastian had made his testament right there and then, it would have been an empty sheet of paper. He had no legacy in this life, no stories left to tell.

Slowly, he gripped the gun again. The urge was there, the urge to simply put the muzzle to his temple and pull the trigger. It would all be over then; it would be calm and quiet. If there was such a thing as an afterlife, he might even be with Jim again. If there wasn’t – at least he wouldn’t miss him anymore.

But before he even raised the gun, he could feel the disapproval. He had spent so many years around Jim, he was so finely attuned to him, he knew what the Shadow meant, even if it was just inclining his head a little.

So he lowered the gun again. Apparently, suicide was not an option at the moment. Not that he had any idea why the Shadow wanted to keep him in this miserable, _lonely_ world any longer.

He wanted to look at the gun, to let his eyes travel over the beautiful instrument of death, but he didn’t dare to take them off the Shadow. Too great was the fear that it would disappear the second he looked away.

The Shadow moved, and Sebastian almost couldn’t keep track of it. But it stabilised again in front of the TV, and Sebastian was amazed that it was dark enough to completely obscure the screen behind it.

The commanding air Jim sometimes had about him radiated out from the Shadow, and even though he was sitting, it made Sebastian weak. And without even thinking about it he laid the gun on the table and slid off the couch, down to his knees.

It felt natural, like breathing, but then again, it always did with Jim. The tension drained from Sebastian’s body, and the familiar calm settled on him.

More than three months since he had last felt this, this complete, eerie quiet of mind and senses. It was so much better than booze.

Almost against his will, his head dropped and he lost sight of the Shadow. But it was okay, because he could still feel it, feel its presence, and for a moment, it was like having Jim back.

His body was settling into the position involuntarily, and the last thing he felt before his eyes slid shut, was the warm, slightly smug approval Jim gave off occasionally when he was in a particularly good mood.

~*~

When he woke, he felt more rested than he had in a long time. Surprisingly, he found himself lying on the couch, instead of kneeling on the hard floor, and for a moment he wondered if he had dreamt last night’s encounter with the Shadow.

But the gun was on the table, instead of its usual place, and he still felt the lingering remains of that unnatural calm.

When he got up and rifled through the cupboards in search of a certain necklace Jim had once gotten him, he unexpectedly came across a list.

Jim had written it in one of his more elaborate ciphers, but Sebastian could read it without problems.

It was a list of names.

He recognised most of them.

They were rivals, enemies, annoyances. People who might have gotten in the way, but hadn’t yet been important enough to be dealt with. And he thought, this might be it. This could be a purpose. And he made a conscious decision.

He would kill every single one of these people, and if it was the last thing he ever did. The memory of Jim saying “clever boy”, in that particular tone of his, that was both praise and mockery at the same time, pressed to the front of his mind unbidden, and he knew he was on the right track.

He slid the necklace – more a chain, really, with a steel crown as a pendant, basically a sign of ownership – over his head, and went to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ("You left me incomplete" is also stolen from Cemetery Gates btw)


	2. A List

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: ableist language

Sebastian crouched behind the couch. It was an uncomfortable position, and decidedly less than ideal, but it was the best place in the flat. His target knew how to make it hard for anyone trying to kill him. But that only spurred Sebastian on more.

Somewhere between the Shadow’s third appearance and this moment, he had found his taste for the kill again. He was not sure when it had happened, but it was good. A bit of the old Sebastian was back, the one that was instinctively drawn to chaos and blood, and who jumped at the opportunity to create a little bit of that himself.

The first name on Jim’s list was an ex-military part-time drug dealer, part-time hitman. He was a freelancer, but on more than one time his work had interfered with Jim’s plans. He was rather low-level, the years had not been kind to him, and, like a tiger, Sebastian had picked a reasonably easy kill.

The revolver was warm in his hand, comforting, soothing. And as cheesy as it sounded when said out loud, in this moment the comparison of the gun to a lover didn’t sound too farfetched.

Sebastian heard the key in the door, and his world narrowed down to that single point. His finger found the trigger, started pulling it steadily, hesitating just before the shot went off. Holding his breath, Sebastian waited for the door to open.

Slowly, it swung into the flat, but there was no one to be seen in the corridor. The guy knew what he was doing. He operated under all the same tricks Sebastian would use. Which made every precaution ultimately futile.

Just as Sebastian knew it would, a head appeared in the right side of the doorframe. It was perfectly in his line of sight, and he carefully pulled the trigger that last bit. The shot rang out, still deafening, even through the earplugs.

With satisfaction Sebastian watched the worn-out face turn slack, blood flowing from the hole where the left eye used to be. The thump of the body was music in his ears.

He exhaled slowly, something like euphoria bubbling just under his skin. The rush of a kill. He revelled in the feeling. Until now, he hadn’t been aware just how much he had missed this. The anticipation beforehand, the quiet focus, and the downright sexual pleasure of a clean kill.

And when he turned to the side, he knew what would be there. The Shadow, tilting his head just so, the same way Jim used to do.

Sebastian knew what Jim’s words would be if he was really there. “Very good, Tiger”, in that low tone, that would make them hurry to get away from the scene before Sebastian jumped him right next to the corpse. Or maybe “Let’s go home”, if he was in a reasonable mood, but still with that underlying promise of what he would do to Sebastian once they got there.

Sebastian put the gun back into the holster. With only a moment of hesitation he went over to the body. It was a relief, when none of the dreaded flashbacks came. No ink black hair matted with blood, no cold wind on top of a roof, not the stench of the morgue. Just a man long past his prime, bleeding heavily from his eye socket onto the dirty linoleum floor.

Sebastian looked at the Shadow for reassurance and actually smiled. When the figure canted its head towards the window, Sebastian hurried to it. It was a clear warning, even if he couldn’t quite say how he knew that.

Even in his current state, the way down the one storey was not much of a feat. He was out the street before the neighbours even called the police.

~*~

For a while, he just walked. Walked through the streets, taking detours and secret paths. He was slowly coming down from the high, a little giddy, and still more than a bit aroused. Truth be told, he had all but forgotten how _good_ it felt. The recoil of the gun, the smell of gunpowder and blood, the slight ringing in his ears.

Instinctively he felt for the gun under his leather jacket. The shape was as familiar as the inside of his own palm, as familiar as Jim’s body had been to him. 

~*~

That night, he woke up screaming again. Once more he had been back on the roof across the street, forced to watch helplessly as Jim put a bullet into his beautiful, brilliant brain.

It was three in the morning, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep again.

In the kitchen he sat down at the table with a cup of tea and went over Jim’s list. Again and again he read the remaining names, the files he had compiled on every person, the plans he had drawn up on how to kill them.

He knew that Jim wouldn’t approve of him putting everything down on paper. Jim hated paper trails and had always been very careful not to leave any evidence behind. Most of his orders had been verbal, or at least ominous enough that only the intended recipient would understand them.

But Sebastian didn’t care anymore. He didn’t have the energy to learn everything by heart, or even come up with a code to protect the information. He was simply too tired for all the precautions, especially since he didn’t have much left to lose.

Should the police ever come for him, it would end with his brains splattered on the pavement. That was a decision he had made a long time ago. He would not go without a fight, and they would not take him alive. In jail he wouldn’t survive long anyway. He didn’t take well to being locked up, and he’d rather die standing his ground than hang himself in a cell.

While he couldn’t see the Shadow anywhere, he was half convinced he could still feel the presence. It always seemed to be around when he plotted his moves, as if it was watching over his plans.

~*~

The second kill was more Sebastian’s usual style. The revolver had been a good choice for the first one, but now it was time to get back to his signature weapon.

He sat high above the street in an empty apartment. The building was still under construction, but no one worked here on a Sunday evening. The walls were bare, cables hanging from the ceiling, and there was no glass in the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

Sebastian was perched on the concrete floor in one of the empty windows, with his bag right next to him. It was a good thing he’d never had a problem with heights.

It had taken him significantly longer to take up his rifles again. Yes, he had touched them, cleaned them, but he hadn’t been able to even load them for a while, even after he had taken to the pistols again.

Because he couldn’t forget what he had seen the last time he had looked through the scope of a rifle.

But now was the right time. He could feel it in his bones, and in the tips of his fingers. Usually he handled his weapons with the attentive carelessness of someone who was used to them, used to having them around, but not foolish enough to forget their danger.

Today, his hand ghosted over the magazine for a long moment before he loaded the rifle, his fingers rested along the side for a while, just feeling the cold, solid steel. There was a reverence to his touch that he had thought almost lost. He was getting to know the weapon again. Every movement he made was slowed, this time not because of his still rather poor condition, but to savour each moment of preparation.

Dusk was settling over the city. Sebastian knew that his target would be down in the street in a minute – that man had a beautifully structured day, he lived like a clockwork – but it wouldn’t be easy to see him in the twilight that was approaching between the buildings.

He hesitated briefly before he raised the telescope sight to his eye. Just for a split second he saw Jim’s dead eyes, saw him down on the roof, the blood spreading out underneath his head. His stomach heaved, but the horror passed as quickly as it had come.

Instead, he felt the presence of the Shadow behind himself. He lowered the rifle again and turned his head. And sure enough, there was the dark figure, at the back of the room, perfectly clear in the orange light of the sunset. Sebastian didn’t know whose anticipation was thrumming through him all of a sudden, but it felt glorious.

With fresh courage he turned back to the task at hand. This time, there was no hesitation in bringing the rifle up, and no images that made him want to vomit. 

He peered down into the street. The people down there seemed like mindless drones, barely more than ants under a magnifying glass, as they were walking and talking and none of it was of any consequence to Sebastian and the Shadow that used to be Jim.

What was a single, tiny life to a god? That’s what he was, high above them, with the power to kill any one of them, as many as he chose. He could decide who lived and who died. 

But he only had one target. It was a detective, no one of major importance, but not the smallest annoyance on the list. 

Sebastian felt the deadly calm settle over him. It came when he had a gun in his hand and a target in sight, it came when hot anger gave way to cold fury, it came when he had the better hand at cards.

At the same time as every day the detective walked around a corner and came into Sebastian’s sight. Slowly he followed the detective’s path through the crowd. When he paused to buy a newspaper, Sebastian took his chance.

He steadily pulled the trigger, holding the gun safely against his shoulder, enjoying the feel of the recoil.

It was a clean, perfect shot. The bullet embedded itself in the back of the detective’s head, no doubt making nice little holes on both sides. 

Sebastian regretted a little that he couldn’t see the man’s face as he died, but the panic that broke out around the now-corpse made up for it. People were screaming, scrambling in all directions, and just for a second he entertained the idea to just keep shooting, wondering how many people he could kill in this mess until he ran out of bullets. 

He watched a moment longer, maybe a moment longer than it was wise, but fuck caution. In the next half hour no one was going to seriously look for the killer, everyone would be preoccupied with calling the police and an ambulance and trying to prevent a mass panic. Until they thought to look up, it might as well be a couple hours. Humans needed to train themselves for it, or they would always forget to look _up_ , since it’s not their usual range of sight. 

As dumb as one might like to think Sebastian, he had spent quite some time learning how humans behave. Especially, how they behave when someone in their midst just got a bullet to the head. Most of the time, they did everything but the sensible things.

He could feel a delighted grin spread across his face as he unloaded the rifle and packed it away. When he turned around he really did expect Jim to be there, with the same manic smile, the same intense look in his eyes that he always got when he watched Sebastian kill. Instead, there was the Shadow. But for some reason, it barely mattered. It radiated the same smugness, the same delight, and Sebastian was reminded of a kill about a month before _that day_

They had walked away from the crime scene, hurried away even, but not for fear of getting caught. Still, they hadn’t made it home. They had only managed to get a couple blocks between the still-warm corpse and themselves before Sebastian pulled Jim into an alley and went down to his knees. They had been lucky it was the middle of the night, so no one actually saw Jim fucking his mouth, the hand painfully tight in his hair, because Sebastian wasn’t sure if he had cared if it had been broad daylight.

He shouldered his bag and headed for the stairwell, still grinning like a madman. The delighted energy of the Shadow followed him, crackling over his skin like static, and damn, if that wasn’t turning him on even more.

The kill itself had done its fair share, but it was the Shadow’s reaction that was really driving Sebastian crazy right now. Just like Jim had. 

He never got over the way Jim looked at him after a murder, with hungry eyes, with an intensity, that even after years of working, living and sleeping together, had still raised goose bumps on Sebastian’s skin every time.

He couldn’t count how many times he had turned away from a corpse to see Jim not keeping watch but instead staring at him like he wanted to eat him alive. 

More than once, if the risk of getting caught was very low, they had fucked right next to the corpse, the smell of blood heavy in the air. 

On one memorable occasion, Jim had ordered Sebastian to his knees and forced the loaded gun down his throat. The taste of gunpowder and blood had been intoxicating, the sheer insanity of it taking him even higher. 

When Jim had come all over Sebastian’s face, it hadn’t taken him long to follow suit.

The way home was a blur.

He kicked the front door shut behind him, set down the gun bag and shoved his hand into his jeans. His heart was hammering in his chest as he stroked his cock. It had been a long fucking time since he had done this. But for once he didn’t think about _that day_.

Instead he remembered Jim’s wild smiles, the ones that were just a little terrifying, the way his short nails would leave crescent shapes in Sebastian’s skin, and he thought he could feel hands slide over his skin. Hands, so familiar, and oh so nimble. They knew all the points that made him swear under his breath and thrust more forcefully into his fingers. 

Sebastian kept his eyes firmly shut, his breathing too loud in his own ears. 

He came with Jim’s name on his lips and the feeling of phantom hands around his throat.

~*~

That night, he slept like a baby.


	3. An Empty House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter. Or, as I call it, "How s3e1 should have gone". Am I still bitter? Yes.

Three years went by like that.

The nightmares were as steady a companion as the Shadow, and there still were days where Sebastian couldn’t make it out of the house. But he was more careful with the alcohol than ever before, and the list guided him, gave him a goal to accomplish. Kept him going.

At first, Sebastian had crossed off a name every couple days. Then, every week, or every two weeks, until he went months without getting a kill. It took more and more time to find the people on his list. More and more time to find a way to get a good shot at them.

Some days he was surprised he wasn’t dead or in jail, considering how often he disregarded caution for revenge.

But eventually, he was down to two men. 

One of them, he admittedly didn’t try too hard to get a hold of. Sebastian knew where he was, where he sat safely and quietly, and for the moment, he had every intention of leaving John Watson in his illusion that nothing bad would happen to him.

The other one was officially already dead.

But Sebastian knew that it could not be true. He simply knew it.

Over the last three years he had tried crossing the name “Sherlock Holmes” off his – Jim’s – list multiple times. But every time he put the pen to the paper, something held back his hand. The Shadow, standing in the darkest corner of the room, forcefully shaking its head.

So he had waited. He had trained, had drawn up plan after plan, waiting for the day that he knew would come, when he would get his revenge.

And now, Sherlock Holmes was back in London.

The old network Jim had so carefully crafted was still working. Not as smoothly, not as faithfully, but Sebastian had spent as much energy as he could muster to maintain it.

So when Sherlock Holmes caused disturbances in multiple restaurants all over London because apparently his ex-blogger kept punching him, it took barely an hour until Sebastian heard of it. 

And suddenly, despite all his plans, he didn’t know what to do.

Did Holmes know he was still around? Did he know Sebastian hadn’t believed in his death? Did he know that Sebastian had been waiting for an opportunity to kill him for three years?

Part of Sebastian wanted to grab the next best gun, run over to Baker Street – where Holmes was bound to turn up sooner or later – and just shoot the bastard.

But no. He would not go into this blinded by his need for revenge. He would wait. At least a couple days, until his head was clearer again. After three years, three more days wouldn’t kill him. And now that he had resurfaced, chances were slim that Holmes would disappear again. Sebastian just _knew_ it. Just like he knew that no matter what was going on right now, Watson would eventually take his former flatmate back. He did see the parallels, even if he disliked them.

So, instead of running off and doing something ill-advised, he sat down at the kitchen table and went over his papers and plans again.

He knew that Holmes was a smart guy, meaning he was probably at least aware of the possibility that Sebastian was still after him. All the murders of the last three years couldn’t have gone unnoticed, and if anyone was able to see the pattern, it was that damn detective. And if he knew, it wasn’t the worst thing Sebastian could do to wait a while. Holmes probably expected him today or at least tomorrow, and maybe Sebastian could give him a false sense of security if nothing happened for some days.

~*~

Four days later, Sebastian had a definite plan. Just as he had prophesied, Holmes had gone back to his lodgings in Baker Street, and apparently also got along with Watson again. 

At first, Sebastian had contemplated killing both of them at the same time. Then he had thought about killing Watson and letting Holmes go for the moment, so he might feel at least some of the pain Sebastian had went through. But in that case he feared that Holmes might disappear again, and he couldn’t risk losing him. So, killing Holmes it was. He’d see about Watson later.

It was time to set the plan in motion.

Some people from his network had carefully followed Holmes around since his return to London. Sebastian had selected them individually, choosing only the best, because that man was just too damn perceptive.

The flat in Baker Street, as well as the surrounding streets and buildings were familiar to Sebastian. Both from Jim’s games with the detective and from his own research over the last years.

There was an empty flat just across the street. From there he would have a perfect view into 211b. He had purchased it about a year ago, to make sure it stayed empty and available, just in case he needed it. His name, of course, didn’t appear anywhere in the documents.

He chose the air rifle for this kill. Jim had given it to him, not long before his death. Usually, Sebastian preferred “real” guns, the bang, the recoil, were all part of what made using a gun such a perfect experience, but somehow the air rifle felt right for this. Especially since Jim had it made specifically for Sebastian, there was no other gun like this, and it felt appropriate that this gift should kill the man Sebastian considered responsible for Jim’s death. The Shadow seemed to approve of his choice.

It was dark outside when Sebastian left Conduit Street.

He still lived in the house, nothing on earth could have made him sell it. After all, it was still _their_ home. At some point, the Shadow had even helped him move back into the bedroom. It had hovered near the door, until Sebastian had finally opened it and entered the room again. Once inside, the Shadow had hit him with a wave of calm that overrode the panic, the longing, and the pain. 

He’d had someone positioned in Baker Street all afternoon, who had told him that the detective was home. Without his trusted doctor, which was both good and bad news. That way no one was around to shoot Sebastian in return, but on the other hand he would have liked for Watson to watch his friend die, again. Permanently, this time. 

Sebastian made his way through byways and backyards to the empty flat, so he wasn’t seen from the street. The Shadow was beside him, moving with him without actually _moving_. Its presence calmed Sebastian, calmed the rage that was seething under his skin again since Holmes’ return.

He entered the house, quietly, listening to the house and the streets around for any disturbances. Jim probably wouldn’t have made any more sound on the stairs than the Shadow did – which was, none at all – but Sebastian had never been able to walk just as soundlessly. Especially not with the old army boots he still considered his best pair of shoes. 

It was even darker inside, barely any light fell through the windows, but Sebastian knew his way. The front window was right between two street lights, at the darkest point possible. He couldn’t see shit in the room. It was cluttered with old furniture someone left behind, the shadows blacker than black. 

He made his way to the window. The flat across the street was brightly lit, behind the closed curtain he could perfectly see Holmes’ silhouette. That profile really was incredibly distinctive.

For a moment he suspected a trap – it wasn’t like Holmes to present a perfect target – but right that second the figure in the flat across moved.

Sebastian glanced to the side, to make sure the Shadow was still with him. Once more it had appeared in a place it was impossible for a shadow to be, showing its pitch black outline on the wall to Sebastian’s right. Somehow, it lacked the enthusiasm both it and Jim had always shown before a kill. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that they were nearing the end of Jim’s list. 

That was one of the reasons Sebastian had decided to spare Watson. He was not sure what would happen once he crossed the last name off the list. The thought that the Shadow might disappear on him was too much to bear. It was all that was left of Jim. It was the only thing keeping Sebastian sane. 

Maybe he’d be allowed to kill himself once the list was done and his purpose fulfilled.

He shrugged off the thoughts and concentrated on the matter at hand. Slowly he opened the window, careful not to make more sound than necessary. The rifle was loaded and ready. With controlled movements, a frantic energy crawling under his skin, he took aim. 

_This really is too easy._ he thought, but carefully pulled the trigger nevertheless.

For a second he was disappointed by the almost silent shot and the fact, that while he had perfectly hit the target, he could not see the ruined face, the mass of blood and brains that probably presented itself on the floor in the detective’s flat now. 

He contemplated taking the risk of getting over there just to have a look, when suddenly he felt a wave of unease from the Shadow. Before he could do more than put down the rifle and look up, someone or something crashed into his back.

Over the last three years he had gotten back into the training, had become the old Tiger again he had been before Jim’s death. It was as easy as breathing to turn, to throw off the weight and go for where he expected the throat to be. When his hand closed around warm flesh, and the orange light from outside illuminated the face in front of him, Sebastian almost fainted. He was looking at no one other than the man he had just shot.

Sherlock Holmes was staring at him.

But before Sebastian could get his other hand around his neck, and kill the detective with his bare hands, something hard connected with the back of his head, and the world went dark before his eyes.

~*~

When he came back to himself, someone had turned on the lights and closed the window. Sherlock Holmes, alive and well, John Watson, and the goddamn Detective Inspector stood in a circle at the door, only keeping half an eye on Sebastian.

His head was throbbing; whoever had hit him had put quite some strength into it. It took all his willpower not to reach up and feel for blood. But he didn’t want them to notice he was awake just yet.

He raised his head a fraction and to his relief saw the Shadow next to the window. It nodded at him, and Sebastian knew there was only one thing left to do.

His movements were slow, careful not to draw attention to him. The revolver slipped easily from the concealed holster into his hand. Those fools hadn’t even thought to search him for back-up weapons. As if he’d ever start anything without having at least one additional gun on him. He gripped it tight, the familiar texture and weight comforting him. 

With an exaggerated groan he got up, drawing everyone’s attention to himself. He stood up straight, even though he was still feeling a little groggy. The Shadow’s reassuring presence was right behind him. It was like standing before a fire, or an oven, he could feel its existence, even if he couldn’t see it. It was like Jim looking over his shoulder, like he had done so many times. 

Sebastian’s world focused on Sherlock Holmes, who stood between his companions, the same arrogant expression on his face he always showed. Watson and the DI vanished into the background, of no further consequence to Sebastian. He barely even saw them move. His entire focus was on the man responsible for Jim’s death.

“You fiend”, Sebastian whispered, “You cunning fiend.” He couldn’t believe he had been fooled, couldn’t believe he hadn’t felt the presence of other people in the room, couldn’t believe they had surprised him so easily.

But now here they were, and it was still possible to make this right. He could still get his revenge. And maybe it would taste even sweeter face to face, with Holmes’ friends at his side.

Without warning he raised the revolver from behind his back and fired. He heard someone shout, but all he saw was the bullet hitting Holmes in the chest, this time for real. Blood soaked the white dress shirt, the detective’s face twisted in surprise, and the Shadow’s satisfaction was strong enough to erase any other emotion from Sebastian’s mind.

It was very unlike him to use that word, but the only thought radiating through him was _Justice. Finally._

Sebastian and the detective stared at each other across the room for hours that probably lasted only seconds.

Holmes’ body suddenly collapsed, like a marionette with its strings cut, and the connection between him and Sebastian was broken. The shouts of Watson and that DI rang in his ears. Still it felt as if time had slowed.

He raised the revolver again, but without any real intention of shooting. But that didn’t matter. The gesture accomplished what it was supposed to.

There was a gun in Watson’s hand, and Sebastian was looking down the barrel. The DI shouted something, presumably telling him to put down the revolver, but he didn’t.

He watched Watson’s finger curl in slow motion.

The Shadow appeared on the wall behind the doctor, and Sebastian smiled at it. The last thing he saw was Jim’s face appearing in the blackness, grinning back at him.

“Goodnight, Tiger.” It whispered in his head.

Then, everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm... sorry? I seem to be saying this a lot lately. I'd like to promise, that the next story has a happy ending, but I'm honestly not sure.


End file.
